


Some things have changed

by Maracuya



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, First Time, Mountains, Post-Quiet Isle, Vale - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:42:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21899107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maracuya/pseuds/Maracuya
Summary: Prompt: Sansa caught spying on SandorMy gift for the Secret Santa SanSan exchange 2019.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 62
Kudos: 107





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sansanaddict](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Sansanaddict), [Fanficaddicted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanficaddicted/gifts).



> I don't own anything, nor would I ever make any money from it. This is all Grrm's wonderful setting.
> 
> Book canon.
> 
> Merry Christmas, Sansanaddict! I hope this is something that pushes the right buttons for you. Cheekyflauschball was my secret little Santa helper and helped me polish the story. Big THANK YOU to her!

Again and again, Sansa cast furtive side glances at the huge figure leading the way in this barren terrain.

Brother Digger. Sandor Clegane. Who would have ever thought? The man who despised the Faith in a monks brown-and-dun robe, his scarred face well-hidden behind his cowl. The thought made Sansa smile inwardly. She also realised she remembered every crack and fissure of his face, that there was nothing about his looks he could hide from her. There was something... comforting in his presence.

Naturally, others would call her mad for feeling safe in the Hound's presence, especially after some atrocities people had attributed to him. In contrast to those tattlers, however, she had paid the gossip about the slaughter at the Saltpans no attention.

Allegedly, the Hound was dead – and Sansa had believed the rumour. Petyr himself had told Sansa the news. At night, she had cried heavy secret tears for the scarred warrior who had saved her life back in King's Landing. And now he was here. With her! Close to her! And because of her! If not for his grumpy nature, Sansa would have hugged him. She had nearly done so when she had recognised him in the Vale and only her ingrained carefulness and good manners had kept her from doing so. Still, Sansa had had to admit to herself that in a way this man was... important for her.

And now, they were picking their way cross-country in the mountains, which left them both panting; a difficult and dangerous option – especially with Clegane's limp – but of course, all the official paths were barred for them after their escape from the Eyrie.

Puffing, Sansa uttered, “I'm surprised the guards at the Eyrie didn't smell a rat!”

The two of them hadn't talked much yet, although there was so much that was unsaid and hovering between them.

“Pfft!” Clegane grunted. “Brainless bugs, all of them. It's far more interesting that the Mountain Clans haven't stopped us yet.”

Sansa offered a shrug.

“Maybe, they haven't noticed us yet.”

The Hound barked a short sound of laughter.

“Haven't noticed us, my arse!”

Sansa winced.

Since their last fateful meeting, Sandor Clegane had probably changed in some ways... but he was still too crude for his own good!

Before Sansa could say something, the Hound continued, “No, little bird, we're crossing the region of the Burned Men. Must be worth something at last that I've got this.” He pointed at his hidden burned side. “Looks like the Elder Brother was right.”

Sansa wondered what the elderly monk had actually said, but she didn't dare to ask and made an educated guess about Clegane's facial scars keeping those folks away.

She also thought of how she'd come to know the hole man called “Elder Brother” at the Vale, how she had seen him arrive together with Clegane.

Then, she came to the point when she needed to address some unanswered questions. So she approached the Hound and briefly touched his elbow.

Aloud, she asked, “And where are we going?”

Now it was the Hound who cast her a side glance... and it was a dark one.

“Some place that isn't burning.”

That sentence reminded Sansa of their last encounter in King's Landing and shut her up effectively. On they walked, a heavy silence between them.


	2. Chapter 2

In the evening, Sandor Clegane refrained from building a fire, though the air was more than just a little crisp. Sansa guessed that it was a safety measure and understood him, even if it meant they'd have an uncomfortable night. It also meant that they had to sleep close to one another for warmth. What would have scandalised Sansa in the past since a lady wouldn't do such a thing now gave her a feeling of safety.

She spread the two bedrolls in a slightly less rocky place while Clegane opened his knapsack and produced some hard bread and cheese, as well as some dried meat. The trickle of a tiny nearby stream provided them with something to drink. Not even the basest kind of luxury, but it had to do for the time being, and Sansa didn't object, even less complain. She was free and she was safe. And Sandor was right by her side... which counted more for her than she'd have ever expected.

Again, Sansa brought up the topic of their destination.

“Where are we heading to?”

Clegane shrugged.

“Pestering me like the repetitive little bird you used to be, right? What do you say to Duskendale?”

Sansa remembered the maps she had seen of the Seven Kingdoms. Her eyes bulged.

“But... that's in the direction of King's Landing.”

The Hound nodded.

“Of course it is. By now, the Elder Brother will have revealed your true identity. Everyone will think you to flee North. Nobody would think of you traveling into the direction of the place that has cost you so much. But naturally, we won't go that far. Duskendale has got a busy port.”

“And where will we go from there?” Sansa inquired further.

Clegane rolled his head until his joints cracked.

“The Free Cities. Safest place for you for the wintertime. You're a summer child, and whatever you want to do in the North after the winter: you need to be alive then.”

Sansa bit her lip.

“Leave Westeros? For years?”

The Hound leaned forward and glowered at her.

“In need of some extra motivation, are you? I'll tell you something: the Elder Brother suspects your little hellion of a sister is in Essos. In Braavos, to be precise.”

Sansa sat up and became stark and stiff.

“My little... – Arya!? Alive?”

Clegane shrugged.

“She was when she left me to die.” He pointed at his bad leg. “The Elder Brother did some secret research. Of course, we can't be sure, but there were some hints pointing into this direction. Hearf stories from a sailor who'd returned from a passage to Braavos. Bloody tattlers, that's what sailors are once they've got a tankard in front of them. It also fits something Arya once mentioned to me. So for once I believe the sailor's yarn to be the truth. I told the Elder Brother as much. Only he didn't tell the giant fair-haired cow of a woman.”

Sansa didn't know who the Hound was referring to, but her focus was elsewhere anyway. Arya! Alive! Gods!

With new vigour, Sansa emphasised, “Duskendale it is then.”

Clegane snorted.

“Will be a shitty way there. But at least there's a hidden place where we'll find my horse waiting to carry us there. Hope we won't attract too much attention. My appearance isn't helpful, as you well know. And you'll have to bleach your hair. The pretty little bird – red plumage first, then a dull brown... time for another colour so you won't get your feathers ruffled by someone who recognises you. The Elder Brother has given me a potion for your hair.”

Sansa blinked in surprise, but then, she shrugged.

“Whatever I have to do. Now tell me about Arya!”

The Hound looked into the distance.

“There's little to say.” He kept his eyes away from her. “We accidentally met in the Riverlands and spent a while there travelling together. At first, I wanted to hand her over to your uncle, but then we... learned of the Red Wedding and that was that. Later, I got wounded in a tavern fight, and Arya left me to die. The only sensible thing for her to do, and she wanted me dead anyway.”

Somehow, Sansa felt that that wasn't all – that there were many dark details to this story, but one look at the burned warrior's stony face told her he wouldn't say any more on the matter. It left Sansa's jaws working. So she changed the topic.

“Why is the Elder Brother helping us so much? He saved you, didn't he? And now, he's helping you save me –”

“I'm just trying to leave this bloody continent behind me,” Clegane cut in, and ignored Sansa's annoyed frown. “No better chance than to begin anew in Essos. And the Elder Brother is damned relieved to be rid of me.”

Again, Sansa did't believe this to be the full truth. After all, the man had brought the Hound along to the Vale so she could be saved. If he'd found Clegane unreliable and disgusting, surely the monk wouldn't have done such a thing and would have just sent his recovered patient away. Besides, the Elder Brother had not tried to keep his distance from “Brother Digger” at the Vale, but had rather conferred with him under his breath in Sansa's presence once.

As soon as she had come to this conclusion, Sansa thought that for someone who allegedly valued honesty so much Sandor Clegane was remarkably selective in what he chose to give away in his rudimentary account. He left out enough to create a lie by omission.

Frustrated, she stood up and said, “I have to... see to my needs before going to sleep.”

With careful steps, she picked her path away from the camp. The terrain was trickery, especially in the semidarkness, and one false step could lead to a fateful – and fatal – accident. Under no other circumstances would she have chosen this option for their flight, but there were simply no alternatives. So Sansa did what she had to do when she was out of sight.

When she turned back to rejoin Sandor Clegane, Sansa hesitated. She was still frustrated with Sandor. At the same time, however, she was curious. After all, she had dreamed of him more than once, and though she had believed him to be dead, deep down there had been some irrational yearning for him coming back to her.

Apart from that, Sansa now remembered for some reason one of her conversations with Myranda Royce, who used to be on the more... salacious side. Myranda had rambled about how gloomy, strong, dangerous men were allegedly attractive in their own way. How their strength was in line with their... abilities in bed and how good a muscular man was looking.

From there, it was only one step in Sansa's trail of thoughts to recollecting her dream aboard the Merling King on her way from King's Landing to the Vale. She had dreamed of her wedding night with Tyrion, only suddely, Tyrion had turned into Sandor.

Sansa blushed and ran a hand through her hair. What did this all mean? Did she have a soft spot for Sandor Clegane? Surely not! Then again... wasn't it obvious? They'd shared private and intense moments ever since they had left Winterfell. There had even been this fateful kiss. So it would surely be no surprise, would it?

Confused, she slowly crept closer, back to their camp. She wanted to see him, wanted to see if he could compare with her imagination, with her memory.

In the fading light, she peeked around a rocky corner... and froze. The Hound stood there and was changing his clothes. He had taken off his roughspun robe and was... nearly naked, apart from his smallclothes. Sansa could see his rippled torso, his bulging muscles, as well as his bulging... – gracious gods! So transfixed was Sansa that she couldn't take her eyes off of Sandor Clegane, didn't even think of propriety. Her heartbeat accelerated, and the blood pumped through her veins in a way it had never done before. There was even an odd pounding sensation in her private parts! Clegane was fishing for new clothes in his knapsack. Sansa gulped, her eyes still glued on the spectacle in font of her, and she was breathing fast.

“ _Gods!”_ she thought. _“He's the very image of the Warrior!”_

The next moment, a strong arm grasped Sansa from behind and closed her mouth, gagging her effectively with a smelly piece of cloth so she couldn't scream.

“Now look at this,” a harsh voice breathed into her ear. There was a ring of dark amusement in it. “A young lady ogling someone like HIM. If you like a hard man, maybe you rather want to ogle me instead?”

There was a low chuckle and Sansa felt both sick and lightheaded. What in the name of the Seven was going on?


	3. Chapter 3

A sharp point in Sansa's back indicated that her attacker had more than the strength of his arms at his command. It also told her she shouldn't make a wrong movement and remain quiet. The same instant, the man's free hand got hold of her arm. The knife or dagger in her back disappeared for a moment, just so that her attacker was able to bind her hands on her back. Afterwards, the man blindfolded her as well. Finally, the knife or dagger was perceptible again.

“No fuss, understood, girl?”

The man had a strange, heavy, and uncouth pronunciation.

“ _The mountain clans!”_ Sansa came to realise. _“Gods, no! They've found us after all!”_

Ice seemed to be coursing in her veins now.

Her attacker tugged at her arms.

“And now, you'll follow me, understood?” he murmured.

Sansa nodded. Of course she did. Und of course she didn't make a peep.

Slowly, the clansman steered her into the direction he wanted her to take. If her path in the mountains had been dangerous before, the risk had doubled now, what with her being blindfolded. Her footing was by no means safe. She could only hope her captor was more adept and would hold her if she slipped.

“ _Gods! What is he up to?”_ she thought... but didn't dare to envision the nasty options.

After what felt like ages, the clansman growled, “Stop!”

Sansa obeyed. Next, the man removed her blindfold and the gag. Sansa's first impression was that the last reys of light were nearly gone after sunset. They were alone in the mountains.

“ _It's now getting even too dangerous for him to travel in this area... at least with me in tow,”_ she thought.

It took Sansa a moment to discern the features of her captor's face in the fading light. When she did, she breathed in sharply. The clansman was rather young and had only one eye! The other one was a gaping hole. The sight set something in motion in Sansa's memory.

“ _I've seen this man before!”_ she thought. _“Somewhere, somewhere... – King's Landing! But how is that possible? Wait, wait!”_

Aloud, she spoke before she could think about it, “You've worked for my husband!”

The man cocked his head.

“Husband?”

Sansa nodded avidly.

“Yes! Tyrion Lannister!”

The next moment, she wanted to bite off her tongue and take her words back. How stupid of her to reveal such a thing! Which implications would her admission have?

Meanwhile, the clansman threw back his head and laughed darkly.

“The Halfman? The halfman and you? Hahaha, good jest –” He stopped short. “Wait! You're... the Stark girl!”

Sansa hung her head and wanted to slap herself.

A wide grin spread on the man's face.

“Now that's rich!” He slapped his leg. “I knew I was helping myself to a juicy bite, but this is even better! Hmmm... I wonder who'll pay me more money: the Halfman's kin or your kin. And I wonder if it would make a difference if I fucked you beforehand. After the Halfman, you must be dieing for a real man.”

Sansa tried to come up with some sort of answer.

“After Tyrion Lannister, I'm not interested in bonding with ANY man.”

The clansman chuckled again and placed a fingertip onto her nose.

“Liar. I've seen you ogle the Hound. I've seen your eyes. Your cunt was quivering. Now, I'll give you a real reason to quiver for! Timmet, son of Timmet will show you. It's an honour to fuck the leader of the Burned Men – and honour is what you kneelers are all after.”


	4. Chapter 4

Sansa started to feel nauseous when the clansman laughed in a salacious tone.

“ _Perhaps he'll leave me be if I'm sick onto his... his private parts. Might be he'd beat me up, but I'm used to getting beaten.”_

Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes.

“ _Why do men think of forcing themselves onto women so often?”_

Sansa was expecting Timmet to place his grubby hands on her at any moment to force her onto the ground. Sure enough, he put his hands onto her shoulders...

…

…

… when suddenly, there was growling sound behind her.

The clansman and Sansa both spun around to find out whether there was a shadow cat or a wolf falling prey on them.

_Fssss!_

The sound was sharp, but shortlived.

_FMP!_

The sound of something making impact lasted even shorter.

There was a momentary, heavy silence. Then, Timmet sank to the ground with a heavy thud. Sansa uttered a stifled shriek. An arrow was protruding from the clansman's remaining eye!

“Once a man wants to fuck a woman, little bird, you can count on him not having his bloody senses together. Only thinking with his balls. And his balls must have been a dark blue, given how he didn't hear a limping crimple stomp into his very own camp.”

“Sandor!”

Sansa spun around, faced an approaching Sandor Clegane, and flushed crimson. She couldn't say if it was more because of his rude words or the fact that she'd just called him by his first name. And then there was this odd mix of relief and disgust because of the dead clansman at her feet. It felt somewhat similar to when the Hound had saved her during the Bread Riots – and now, the Hound had helped her again. Hopefully, the darkness wouldn't give her blush away.

The tall warrior was holding a little crossbow and tapping it against his thigh. He shot her a glance she couldn't decipher without daylight.

“Now look at this! When I'm saving your pretty arse you even know my first name. Anyway, what do you make of this? One of these mountain bastards down. Now off we go. Don't want his folks to make a connection between us and their dead leader.”

Sansa's heart was pumping fast and she didn't dare to look at Clegane. She spoke just to say something at all.

“I didn't know you to be an archer. But you're even good in the darkness!”

“ _I'm sounding like a naïve little bird again,”_ she thought. To make things worse, she had noticed the scarred warrior to be in the possession of the little crossbow before, only she'd not believed him to actually use it as it looked more like a harmless toy in the man's big hands. Which it wasn't, as she'd learned now.

“So you're still a clueless little bird, aren't you?” Clegane commented with a snort. “Thought you'd learned a bit more after Littlefucker and the Imp. Now I'll tell you something: if swordfighting is my profession I'm not too stupid to shoot an arrow. And these days, my bad leg is a motivation to rather rely on shooting if I want to survive. Besides, his complexion was light enough to have a chance at hitting the target even after nightfall.”

Sansa knew he was right. Of course he was. It was normal that fighters like him were capable of using different weapons.

“I know,” she admitted in a meek voice. “I've just never watched you in this situation before.”

Clegane harrumphed.

“Nah. Never seen me kill before. Pfft! – Anyway, change of topic. We must leave. No matter how dangerous it is. Breaking our necks would be merciful in comparison to the revenge of the Mountain Clans. No sleep tonight. And first, we must hide this bastard in a crevice over there. Don't want to have his kin on my heels by the end of tomorrow.”

Again, Sansa knew the Hound to be right. She watched the tall warrior dispose them of the corpse. As far as she could tell, Clegane also took the dead man's knife and dagger with him. Looting a corpse was something that made Sansa sick, but then again, the clansman didn't need the weapons anymore.

When everything was said and done, they picked their way in the darkness. Progress was slow, just a few steps per minute – and still, they had to fear a fatal accident with every move they made. It was a long night, and it was just the fear for her life that kept Sansa awake at some point. At dawn, Clegane was lucky to find a cave. He inspected it at once, lest it be the hideout of a dangerous animal... or human.

As it turned out, there was no carnivor in whatever shape that seemed to use this place.

“We're far off the official routes, little bird – we just might escape any unwanted attention,” Clegane said.

Sansa nodded.


	5. Chapter 5

So they made camp. After what they'd been through, they just needed a break and some time to sleep and to recover. No sooner had Sansa closed her eyes than she was sound asleep. The tip of a boot touching her ankle woke her again moments later. Or had she slept for hours?

“Noon,” Clegane informed her. “We must eat, drink, piss, and go on.”

Sansa rubbed her puffy eyes. She was too tired to react to the Hound's coarse language.

All she did was to mumble, “I see.” She yawned. “Do we have any water left?”

The Hound nodded.

“Not much, but that's no problem. Enough rivulets around. Here, take this. Not much old cheese left though. Glad the dead bastard had some dried meat in his bag.”

Sansa shuddered, but she ate nevertheless.

After a minute or two of silent munching, Clegane spoke up again.

“So you were busy ogling me when the clansman chanced upon you. Heard him ramble about it. Had a loud voice, that fellow. Would have felled him then and there if not for my limp. Slowed me down. Grrr. And that man was a capable fighter. Moreover, we were in his terrain. Needed to do it the dirty way to make sure you'd survive. Now – want to see more of my burned face again? Just you ask nicely.”

He grinned cruelly until the scarred corner of his mouth twitched. Sansa choked on a morsel of cheese.

“Me... I..., “ she stammered. “I just happened to see you change your clothes when I came back to our camp. I didn't mean to spy on you.”

Clegane snorted.

“The little bird has had enough of ugly fellows, hasn't she? Me in Joffrey's background, then the Imp, now me again. Lucky one, you are.”

Sansa's mind ran in circles. What should she say to this?

“You're not ugly,” she blurted out.

Clegane promptly started to laugh with his steel-on-stone voice.

“Some things haven't changed, by the look of it. You're still the most incompetent liar in the Seven Kingdoms, little bird.” He cast her a hard glance with his grey eyes. “Leave it be. No need for honeyed words.”

Finally, Sansa felt anger well up deep inside her. She got onto her feet and pressed her hands onto her hips.

“And I've got no need for your surly behaviour! You're such a curmudgeon you're not willing to realise when I'm speaking truly! You only ever think of your scars – and yes, those scars are ugly. But it's not as if you're all burns and no body. Have you never realised you look like the Warrior made fl–“

Sansa stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes widened, her hand flew to her mouth, and she spun around. Gods, what had she said!

Behind her, she heard the Hound's voice, and it was rife with confusion.

“So you were really ogling me? In the sense of...?”

Sansa's hands balled into fists and opened alternately. She didn't turn around to face Clegane.

“I accidentally saw you half naked and I couldn't unsee that you're tall and muscled – that's all there is to it.”

When the Hound spoke up again, he sounded as if he were trying to grin around his head.

“So I did win against the Imp in your judgement then?”

Sansa couldn't help herself anymore. She screwed up her eyes the same way Arya would have done in her place.

“What does Tyrion have to do with anything? And besides, I didn't see your – “

_DAMN._

Sansa waved her hand as if this could help her at all.

“My cock would be a criterion for you?”

Gods, the mocking tone in his voice!

Finally, she turned on her heels, angrier than ever before, and she pushed a finger against Clegane's chest.

“I didn't see it, and I didn't want to see it! I'm not interested in seeing... in seeing...,” she gasped, “a man's private parts. I'm quite done with that, thank you! And men think too much of what they've got... there!”

The fact that she was actually curious about Sandor Clegane's body – and about him as a person as well – did nothing to make things easier for Sansa.

While she had been talking, Clegane's face had turned to stone, and a muscle at his jaw started to twitch. He looked out of the cave and into the distance.

“Yes,” he growled darkly. “I can understand. After what you must have been through... the Lannister... the Imp... And I wasn't any better.”

Sansa blinked.

“What do you mean – not any better?”

The Hound huffed.

“Don't pretend you don't remember the night of the Battle of the Blackwater.”

Of course, Sansa did remember.

“The knife at my neck wasn't charming, no. But I have long forgiven you. We all weren't ourselves that night, and I can't begine to imagine the horror you must have been through before.”

Clegane stared at her, eyes huge.

“You have... you have... But I almost raped you!”

Sansa cocked her head at the shocking admission.

“Almost, but you didn't – not even in your darkest hour. You're different from your brother there, aren't you?” For once, Sandor was silent. So Sansa went on, “Let's rest things that happened and that almost happened that night.”

Hesitantly, Sandor said, “Things didn't get better for you from there, didn't they? First the Imp, and now I reach the Vale and see that Littlefinger is trying to sell you off to some bloody shit.”

Sansa sighed.

“It's all because of my heritage, you know it as well as I do.”

“Heritage, my arse,” Clegane growled. “Just look at what happened to Tywin Lannister and his heritage. Heard he didn't shit gold in the end.”

Sansa coughed into her hand.

“I wasn't there anymore when he met the Stranger.”

The Hound shrugged.

“But your Lord Husband was, obviously.”

Sansa grimaced. There was little and less she wanted to say to that. So she changed the topic.

“I was already on the way to the Vale.”

Clegane lifted a good eyebrow.

“I wonder which marriage would have been the least valid. Being forced into wedded life by the Lannisters or being forced into polygamy by some sordid bugger in the Vale. And don't tell me you love him.”

Sansa shook her head.

“No, I don't love Harry the Heir.”

The Hound snorted.

“He needs to point out in his title he's an heir? Miserable sod. I bet he thinks he's a blessing for the world but actually too stupid to piss straight.”

Sansa couldn't suppress a giggle on hearing the Hound's harsh words. Clegane blew the air through the nose.

“Laughing even if I'm not speaking like a knight? Fuck, this Harry must be a real shitstain.”

Sansa shrugged. The episode with that man was over and she didn't want to be reminded of him. Then, she smiled.

“We're only talking about me. What about you? Where have you been all this time? People said you were dead.”

“The Hound is dead, or so the Elder Brother wants to make himself and others believe. Took me in when I got wounded and took me along to the Vale when he got wind of Baelish's bastard daughter. Counted two and two together.  Fair of skin, blue eyes, kind, gentle, pretty. Littlefinger showing up with a daughter nobody had heard of before, stashing her away in a place with few visitors from Kings Landing. So the Elder Brother asked me to accompany him to the Vale. And here I am.”

Sansa smiled.

“That's a short version.”

Clegane's mouth twitched.

“It's all that counts. The past has been shitty enough. No need to dwell on it.”

Sansa's smile intensified.

“You and monks. Really, the very concept is... entertaining.”

Sandor spat out.

“It bloody wasn't. Glad it's over. Now let's get up and go on.”

So off they went. It was about time. Clegane led the way. Sansa watched his broad back in front of her, as well as his limping gait. They were both silent and concentrated on the dangerous terrain.

“ _Sandor,”_ Sansa thought and blushed.

Her thoughts danced and circled. Her eyes were drawn to his broad shoulders and his strong arms. He had pushed back his sleeves a little bit, and she could see some dark, curly hair. It all sent a warm shudder along her spine.

And thanks to lusty, candid Miranda Royce back in the Vale she couldn't pretend anymore she didn't know what it meant. She wanted him to take her in his arms and hold her close to him. She wanted to taste his lips to find out if his kiss would be different now from the one during the Battle of the Blackwater.

“ _Gods! Sandor Clegane! Of all men!”_ she thought. However, there was no helping it, and Sansa had learned that it was impossible to unfeel what she felt.

At some point, she said, “A few things have changed since we last met.”

Clegane looked around for a moment.

“We've already found that out.”

Sansa's heart was pounding, and not just from the physical strain. She remembered the night of the Battle of the Blackwater, as well as the past evening when she had seen him half naked... and aroused, as far as she could tell. Did he...? There was only one way to find it out.

“What if I don't want to be the well-bred, well-behaved girl anymore?”

Clegane turn again, his slate eyes like burning coals.

“You're not like your hellion of a sister. What are you talking about? Spit it out!”

Sansa's stomach felt as if there were ants in it.

“The world sees me as married, no matter how the wedding to Tyrion came about. He's not the husband me or my family would have chosen. What if I want to have a lover now?”


	6. Chapter 6

Clegane choked on his own saliva and coughed.

“Chach! Chach! Er, well, little bird, I guess I should be glad for you that the dead clansman and all your other... experiences in the past haven't killed your appetite to fuck a man. But really, it's not the way you are.”

Sansa's eyebrows rose while her cheeks continued to feel as if they were on fire.

“What do you know about me? When we last met I was a child and still innocent and eager to please everyone around me – if only to survive at that point. Isn't it understandable I'm fed up with being a –,“ she paused, then continued, “lonely woman everyone only wants for her claim.”

“ _He doesn't need to know I'm still a maid,”_ Sansa thought.

The Hound glowered at her.

“Won't comment on it. That's not my tankard of Dornish sour.”

On hearing these words, Sansa had to kick herself to take the next step, but surprisingly, she found it in her to do what some intense impulse told her.

She placed her hand onto Sandor Clegane's the calloused, looked him straight in the eyes and uttered, “What if it were your tankard of Dornish sour?”

The Hound's eyes became big and round. He stared her in the face, then at her hand on his own one – and next, he pulled pack his fingers as if he'd been burned yet again.

“What is this madness?” he snapped at her. “What the fuck has the bloody Imp done to you so you'd even theoretically think of me?”

Sansa winced as if he'd slapped her. But only a split second later, she remembered past situations when he'd done the same.

“ _Barking like a feral dog who's trying to frighten others, but who's actually afraid of something,”_ she suddenly realised. She'd never seen it from that angle before, but now, she understood. After all, she was older now.

It was difficult to admit, but she said, “I'm not thinking of you THEORETICALLY. And it has nothing to do with Tyrion Lannister. At all. You gave me your cloak first. Twice, actually.”

Sandor blinked and shook himself like a wet dog.

“This is madness. The demons from the seven hells are playing pranks on me. And you must have lost some bats in your belfry along the way since I left you after the Battle of the Blackwater. Pfft!”

And with those words, Sandor Clegane turned away from her and stomped off.

Sansa gazed after him, shoulders drooping.

“ _This hasn't gone at all the way it should have,”_ she thought.


	7. Chapter 7

For a while, Sansa was crestfallen. Sandor Clegane's rejection stung. The heavy silence between the two of them did nothing to make things easier. Then, however, her thoughts started to bubble and to meander again.

“ _Did he actually say he didn't like me? Or... want me? No, he didn't. He didn't. He's upset, but that's not the same. So...”_ She was by no means sure she was right, but Sansa hoped she hadn't misjudged the situation. _“He can't believe me. His burns, our past, and we're so different – no wonder. He's always so rough. What does he know about people who see more in him than a killing tool in the first place?”_

Back in King's Landing, she had been too young to think about such things. Again, Sansa felt how she had changed since those days. How she had grown and matured.

If Sandor Clegane was a taciturn man to begin with, he was nearly mute now, or so it felt. He didn't talk to her for hours and didn't look her in the eyes when he finally brusquely told her in the afternoon they'd make camp again.

“I'll try to organise something to eat. Won't be easy to find food here. Prepare yourself to go hungry if need be. There's a stream over there. Make sure everything is ready when I return.”

No mocking undertone, no 'little bird', no nothing. Sansa was worried, but couldn't voice her opinion as Sandor Clegane was already leaving her.

So Sansa busied herself with making camp and restocking their water provisions. She also washed herself. The ice-cold water helped her to focus and to regain her inner composure. For a moment, she toyed with the idea of presenting herself half naked to Clegane the same way he had done it the other day. Perhaps he'd react the same way she had done herself.

“ _Ah, no,”_ she decided against it. _“Cersei would do something like this, but not me. I'm not a shallow seductress. And Clegane deserves some respect.”_

When the Hound returned with no more than two edible roots and the worst scowl on his burned face, she was ready to pick up the topic again.

Sansa watched Sandor Clegane clean the roots meticulously him without looking at her.

“I can wash and peel a root, too, you know? At the Vale, I wasn't the highborn girl who couldn't look after herself. I've learned a practical thing or two about real life.”

Clegane still didn't lift his eyes, but he all but shoved her a root in her face.

“Help yourself then.”

Sansa looked at the plant.

“It should be cooked, shouldn't it?”

“No open fire here. We're still in the realm of the Mountain Clans.”

Sansa sighed inwardly.

Aloud she asked, “The Elder Brother... were you with him for a long time?”

“For as long as it took to heal my leg,” Sandor answered.

Sansa looked at the wounded limb.

“ _That must have taken months and months,”_ she thought.

“So you were... where does he live? On the Quiet Isle if I remember correctly.”

Clegane harrumphed in a way that could have meant “yes”. It was unnerving for Sansa. They couldn't go on like this forever.

“I'm glad he was able to heal you. – Um... can you tell me some more about my sister? Please?”

The Hound rubbed his forehead.

“She was unnerving. I'm sure you will remember her antics. I was on her personal death list. She now knows how to kill. Only she left without killing me when I was wounded and on the edge of death. Would have been the merciful thing to do.”

On impulse, Sansa took Sandor's hand.

“I'm glad she didn't kill you.”

Again, Sandor stared at her and pulled his hand away.

“Leave me be! Got no need for girlish flirting and bantering and playing bloody games.”

He sounded so angry, and the burned corner of his mouth was twitching.

Sansa sighed.

“I may have married a Lannister, but it was against my will – and I haven't become a younger version of Cersei. I don't play games with men. And the days of girlish flirting are over. Sandor,” she made a point of accentuating his name, and he winced, “I've missed you ever since you left me after the Battle of the Blackwater.”

The Hound's voice was raw when he answered, “No need for honeyed words. I remember the night as well as you do, and I know what I did and what I was like.”

Sansa thought of his kiss and spoke, “I've already told you – I've forgiven you. But I must tell you that I have neither forgotten how you've been different from others. Better in some ways, your rough ways notwithstanding. Your coat, the coat you gave me on that day – I kept it in a cedar chest until I fled King's Landing.”

For a moment, Sandor looked at her, and Sansa saw a furnace in his eyes. Then, he cupped his face with his big palms.

“Leave it be, little bird,” he uttered and sounded as if he were in pain.

Sansa took one of his hands again and didn't allow him to pull it away this time.

“Sandor,” she said softly. “I'm serious about this. You don't believe me? Let me give you a kiss then, and afterwards, you may decide if I'm playing games or not.”

When Sandor stared at her again, Sansa finally understood what was going on with him. He was shaking with naked fear. She realised what it meant.

“ _He's afraid of me breaking his heart.”_

A strange kind of warmth welled up deep inside of her that told Sansa all she had to know. This – whatever there was between them – was so much more than lust. Back in King's Landing, she had been too young to feel desire anyway. And now... it was there, yes, but it was only one facet.

She thought, _“Oh my dear Sandor Clegane, we're meant to be together! I want to spend my life with him!”_

And then, she leaned in without hesitating to give him a kiss.


	8. Chapter 8

Over the years, Sansa had experienced several kisses. The first thing she noticed now was Sandor Clegane's scent; it was nothing like Baelish's minty smell, but something rich and earthy that was completely himself... and also very masculine.

Sandor closed his eyes first, and his posture was utterly stiff. As if he expected something bad. As if she'd draw back at any moment. As if he didn't know what to do.

“ _Is this his first kiss?”_ Sansa wondered. Of course, she couldn't ask him.

When their lips met, Sansa was a bit surprised at how soft they were. These lips had nothing of Joffrey's wormy nature. And strangely enough, they felt nothing like they had done on the night of the Battle of the Blackwater. A wild spark ignited deep in Sansa's core and ran up her spine. GODS.

Sansa had only meant to probe Sandor Clegane a little as she was still rather inexperienced herself. However, when she felt his warm breath on her face, she stayed where she was and pressed a little more. It elicited a stifled sound deep in Sandor's throat, and Sansa's heart soared. As if of their own accord, her arms found their way around his neck, and her fingers dug into his dark hair. She didn't even feel embarrassed. All she wanted was to be close to this man.

And she wasn't close enough yet!

Sandor Clegane was slow to respond, and he was trembling slightly.

“ _He really doesn't know how to kiss!”_ Sansa thought, amazed. _“Or it is too overwhelming for him. Or both. I... I have to show him. Only... I know so little myself.”_

She didn't get any further as her instincts took over completely. As a fine lady, she should have been upset now, should have tried to reach calmer waters. Then and there, however, she wasn't a fine lady, nor did she want to be one.

She clung to Sandor Clegane as if for dear life. She remembered how Miranda Royce had once talked about tongues touching while kissing. Sansa hesitated for a moment, but then, passionate curiosity got the better of her. Carefully, she dipped the tip of her tongue against his lips and gave them a timid lick.

Sandor Clegane groaned. His mouth opened just a fraction, and Sansa took the chance and ventured further. Gods, this was better than anything Sansa had ever experienced! When her tongue touched his, it was as if she heard the sweetest notes from the seven heavens, and a great heat built up inside of her. Now, it was Sansa who uttered a petite sound.

That was what broke the ice for Sandor Clegane. He grabbed her, took hold of her with his strong arms. He was trembling, nearly crushed her, but Sansa wasn't afraid, rather drank in his breath and wanted more. Sandor's tentative tongue started to duel with hers, and for once, Sansa felt she was a match for him.

Time became irrelevant. Everything else became irrelevant as their lips found each other again and again, kissed, licked, nibbled, sucked... Gods, they were utterly beyond control, both of them!

At some point, they parted enough to look at each other in the light of the setting sun.

“Now do you think I'm playing games, Sandor?”

How good it felt to use his first name! Sansa looked at the scarred face that had once frightened her... and that elicited completely different feelings now. Sandor's slate eyes were darker than they had ever been, or so it seemed.

“No, little bird. No games.”

Then, they were kissing again, and somehow, they ended up on the rocky ground.

“Ouch!” Sansa uttered because of a sharp little stone.

Sandor ran his hand through his dark hair.

“We better stop here little bird. I mean –“

“Don't you dare!” Sansa grumbled, pulled at the neck of his tunic, and they resumed their hungry kisses.

She didn't understand herself. When and how had she become so bold? Only... she just needed this so much! She hadn't sensed true happiness ever since she had left Winterfell, which had been like a different life back then. And now, she was starving for good feelings.

It was then that Sandor finally took over and did so with all the forceful passion one could expect from such a strong, energetic man. His mouth plundered hers, and his strong grip might have frightened a different woman. In no time, Sansa was panting. Then his big, calloused hands were on her body. Somehow, some strings of her bodice had become loose, and his curious fingers were on her skin.

“ _He's greedy,”_ Sansa thought. _“But not like other men. There's reverence, too.”_

She responded likewise, and her fingers crept under his tunic, exploring the warm skin and muscles she found there. GRACIOUS GODS.

When she revealed his private parts, her eyes bulged. Sandor lifted an eyebrow and grinned.

“That more than what you've seen before?”

Sansa flushed crimson.

“Quite so,” she breathed. Sandor was easily twice as... massive as what she'd seen on her wedding night with Tyrion. Suddenly shy, she breathed, “You'll be gentle, won't you?”

Sandor turned serious.

“The bloody seven know I'll barely be able to hold back when we start. But they also know I'd rather have my face burned again than to hurt you, little bird.”


	9. Chapter 9

What confused Sansa was that when they proceeded, Sandor lacked a certain aplomb. They were still partly dressed, but that could ascribed to the cool mountain weather. No, the relevant point was that is looked as if Sonder didn't exactly know how to touch. He groped a bit at her breasts and at her thighs, but it wasn't very sensual – as if he had no knowledge of fondling a woman.

“ _He has been with a woman before, hasn't he?”_ she wondered. She couldn't imagine him to be as inexperienced as she was. _“Or is it because he's never been with a woman like me?”_

When Sandor pushed up her skirt, rolled onto her after a moment and took her, Sansa uttered a muffled squeal – muffled, because she couldn't breathe properly under his weight. He was all but crushing the air from her lungs with his massive body. Still, her sound of discomfort had been enough: a heartbeat later, he was gone, and Sandor faced her, his eyes wide with worry.

“What is it, little bird?”

Sansa thought of certain things that could bring a woman pleasure, according to Myranda Royce, but she didn't want to discourage Sandor by criticising him for not applying them. Instead, she focused on one aspect.

“I'm sorry,” she panted. “You're too heavy.”

Sandor scratched his head.

“Damn. I just... you're a proper lady, so I wanted to do it the decent way. But there are other positions where you wouldn't have to carry my weight.”

“Then let's shoot decency beyond the Wall and try out the other positions.”

Moments later, he had Sansa kneel on all fours, and he knelt behind her. Sansa blushed fiercely as this reminded her of what she had seen dogs do. Well, she guessed, it was oddly fitting for the Hound to choose this position.

The second try still hurt, but not as much, and Sandor couldn't see her grimace as she was facing away from him. Besides, it got acceptable after a while since the initial pain abated and Sansa tried to somehow feel around the uncomfortable sensations. Still, she was quite overwhelmed. Sandor, however, seemed to be more confident with this new position, and he actually got very wild very soon. Sansa couldn't keep pace with him on his way to satisfaction. She was busy dealing with all the hungry energy she was exposed to.

As it was, it didn't take long for Sandor to find his own completion. Three to four minutes perhaps, a sound between a grunt and a groan, and it was over. Sansa felt some kind of sticky wetness further down and knew after a moment what it meant. Again a theoretical lesson she'd learned at the Vale.

“ _Back in King's Landing I'd have barely had a clue at what's going on,”_ she thought. _“I would have been so shocked I wouldn't have been able to cope with it all.”_

Even under these circumstances, Sansa was all aflush with embarrassment... and there was also a certain disappointment. These feelings notwithstanding, she wasn't sorry in the least she'd given her maidenhood to Sandor Clegane. Speaking of whom – he was suddenly very tense.

“What!? Wait! Little bird! Oh shit, I've hurt you! You're bleeding!”

Sansa looked at herself.

“Am I? Oh, yes. Well, it's not much, and I've heard it's normal.”

Sandor shook his head wildly.

“Just for the first ti –“

He stopped dead in his tracks and his eyes bulged. When he spoke, his raspy voice was as dark as if it came right from the seven hells.

“But that's impossible. Don't tell me you've been a maid!”


	10. Chapter 10

“ _Aaaargh!”_ was Sansa's most eloquent inner reaction to this.

She winced. Her face told Sandor obviously everything he needed to know. She had never seen him look so stupid, with his mouth hanging open.

“Well, I did see Tyrion naked and aroused, and I've heard things about the marriage bed –“

“Seven bloody hells, why would the blasted Imp NOT fuck you? He's the greatest whoremonger in the Seven Kingdoms!”

Sansa blushed, but at the same time, she felt a whiff of annoyment.

“That's Tyrion's and my private matter, isn't it?”

Sandor's eyebrows rose, but then, he knitted them so they met above the nose.

“Wrong. I mean – I give a damn about the actual reasons, though the Imp must have been mental, but the fact that you've still been a maid... Don't you understand the consequences? Before, you could still have had the marriage annulled because you could have proven it was never consummated. Now, you're bound to Tyrion Lannister until the end. And all of that because you and I have just fucked!”

Sansa sighed.

“What if I say it's not so bad to be bound to Tyrion Lannister?” That question had Sandor gaping again. So Sansa went on, “Don't you realise what it would mean if I were free? I'd be chattel again, I''d be a claim to power and high nobility and the North again. I wouldn't be Sansa, just a means to an end.” While she was talking, she could see Sandor listen and think. “I mean – Tyrion... he's killed his father and he's far away. It's not as if I'd live with him again anytime soon. I'm freer under these circumstances than I'd be otherwise. It's what I realised when you whisked me away from under Baelish's nose.”

Sandor cocked his head and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Then I've been a means to an end to help you reach this state of relative freedom.”

Sansa blinked.

“Of course not! The dead clansman could have fulfilled that function, too. Don't you remember the kiss? I want to be with you!”

“Is that so? Binding yourself to the Imp doesn't sound as if you wanted to be with me. The airhaided little bird I know would want to marry me for love.”

Now, it was Sansa who was gaping for a short moment. Then, she shook her head.

“That little bird is still there, somewhere deep inside. But I've grown and learned from a certain someone that life isn't a song. People wouldn't allow you to marry me. Or to stay married with me. You're a second son of a minor house, you've got the worst reputation, you've been a Lannister man. The North doesn't forget. Weird as it is – if you're my lover instead of my husband, you're not someone's potential obstacle. And I rather want to have you with your head on your shoulders. It's more than enough that I lost the rest of my family the way I did.”

Sandor blew the air through the nose.

“You've been in Baelish's clutches for too long. You've changed, little bird.”

Sansa bit her lower lip.

“In some ways – yes. In some. But though I'm glad I've left Baelish and Alayne Stone behind, I'm not ungrateful for what I've learned in the Vale.”

They were both silent for a moment. Then, Sansa smiled.

“We both still have to get to know each other so much better when it comes to... coupling.” She blushed. “And at some point, I'd prefer a bed.”

Sandor was disgruntled at once.

“I've disappointed you, little bird, because I didn't know any better.”

Sansa patted his arm and gave him a peck on his bad cheek.

“Any act with any other man would have been so much worse. We just have to give each other more chances to find out what is good for us.”

She smiled and placed his paw onto one of her breasts to nail her words down.

At that point, Sandor was able to grin again, even if it still looked a bit forced. The burned corner of his mouth twitched.

“Now that's a prospect I'd fucking like.”


	11. Chapter 11

It was strange, but in a positive way: after this episode, something had changed between the two of them. They were still scrambling in the mountains, and their path was still as dangerous as ever so there was no idle chatting between them. Yet, the ongoing silence between them was an amicable one. They were far more relaxed than they'd been before and far more focused on their path ahead.

In the evening, they made camp and Sandor found it in himself to give away some more details about his time with Arya. When Sansa learned of her little sister's experiences and that the two had witnessed Robb's and Lady Catelyn's death, Sansa spilled some hot tears.

Afterwards, Sandor spoke of his time at the Quiet Isle.

“I was a gravedigger for a while. To recover from my wound,” Sandor explained. “And the Elder Brother forbade me to drink wine and beer. At first, I wanted to crush him to a pulp – only I wasn't strong enough to do so. I was weak like a kitten, puking and trembling and shitting myself since I couldn't get up with my bad leg. After two weeks without drinking I slowly came back to my senses. Later, the Elder Brother and I often talked about many things. My life, his life, attitudes. For a scumbag of a monk he is decent enough a man.”

“And now, you're not drinking any alcohol anymore?” Sansa asked. “I must confess your drunkenness used to frighten me more than your burns did.”

Sandor breathed in and out.

“Whenever I'm craving a drink, I think of what I was like at the end of the Battle of the Blackwater. Of what I'd have nearly done to you.”

Sansa took his big, calloused hand into her small one. There was nothing she needed to say. And no words would ever stop Sandor from having a bad conscience. He wasn't the cold man he had wanted to make everyone believe he was – probably even himself. Deep down, there was a gentleness that had been crippled... and the Elder Brother had taken care of it the same way he had treated Sandor's physical wound. Sansa knew she'd be forever grateful the man had done everything to cure his patient as best he could.

Sansa's and Sandor's second lovemaking was better than the first, and Sansa was convinced afterwards that their interactions would become better with every try. This time, she had truly liked it – perhaps she'd soon experience the same kind of peak Sandor had at the end and Myranda Royce had spoken of.

When she lay at Sandor's side, she murmured into his dark hair, “When we're over in Essos, I want you to be my husband. Nobody there knows I'm already married.”

There was a momentary silence. Then...

“All right.”

Sansa placed her cheek onto his shoulders and taunted him, “Now I'm surprised. I thought a Hound can sniff out a lie and hates lies.”

Sandor snorted.

“What do I care about the shit I uttered long ago when my veins were full of Dornish red? I'll have you any way I can get you.”

On hearing these words, Sansa's heart sang.

“We've come a long way, Sandor, haven't we?”

They both looked at the canopy of stars above them.

“Yes, little bird, we have. And you best believe this one statement as it is the one eternal truth I have to offer: we belong together, and you'll always be in my heart. I... I think I... love you.”

Sansa beamed with joy in the darkness.

“Oh Sandor, I love you, too! I've long become your little bird, and now you must believe your little bird's heart is soaring.”

Sandor kissed her then, and Sansa tasted something salty on his skin. It reminded her of when she'd sung for him during the Battle of the Blackwater. Only something had changed: this was better. So much better. This was all she'd ever wanted.


End file.
